The sound of the cast iron hitting the floor had been enormous.

But what bothered me now was the silence afterward.

No one had rushed to comfort Emma.

No one had called my name.

I understood exactly why the kitchen had gone so quiet after the crash.

Everyone had been waiting to find out whether I’d heard it.

If I’d stayed upstairs washing the sweatshirt for two more minutes, they’d have had time to clean up the floor.

They’d meant to hide it from me.